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<title>i think i feel a similar way by picketfences (OnyxSphinx)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318382">i think i feel a similar way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/picketfences'>picketfences (OnyxSphinx)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Turn (TV 2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pining, sarah exists but she and ben aren't together because fuck that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:28:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/picketfences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ben realises that he's been pining for his best friend, and it all works out in the end</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i think i feel a similar way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ben drags himself through the woods, wincing as he goes; the bloody fabric warm against his fingers. He’s not sure how long it’s been—hours, at least, since the sun has gone down by now; and he’s feeling lightheaded. He’s lost a lot of blood, he knows; and he’s not sure he’ll survive if he collapses and falls asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With what little energy he has left, he raises his gaze from the ground to scan the treeline; searching for any sign of another human presence—a home, if he’s lucky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimly, he thinks his luck may have run out. He’s survived too much for it not to have, by now. It’s a miracle he’s still alive. He begins to resign himself to it; his only regret that he never gave Caleb a proper goodbye, for what will the whaler think, when he’s gone missing like this? He’ll worry, and tear himself to shreds. His ring—</span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>ring, it can’t survive that. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to survive. Ben has to survive so it can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he catches sight of a light; and draws in a shaking breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, God, let it be a home,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he begs silently; too weary and not lucid enough to form a proper prayer, to say it outloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He staggers a few steps forward; and then a few more. By the time he reaches the home, he’s forced to lean against the trees for support; fingers scrabbling against the bark weakly to stay standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barely upright, he lurches towards the door and knocks; as hard as he can, three times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long, long, agonising moment, it seems as if no one’s home; and his heart drops; and he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is it, I’ll die here, alone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And then, finally, the door opens; a blonde, thin-faced woman at the door; eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Madam,” Ben manages, hoarsely, attempting a reassuring smile, “could I trouble you to allow me to rest for a moment in your home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then darkness claims him, the last thing he remembers the feeling of falling as he crumples to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he wakes up it’s in an unfamiliar bed; the sheets clean and white; and his first instinct is to bolt up and run—one he gives himself over to, at least, until he actually tries to move and finds himself doubling over in pain, wheezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” a woman’s voice warns, “you shouldn’t be straining yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben looks up; recognising the woman as the one who opened the door. She helps adjust the pillows so he can sit up, and sets a tray across his lap. “Eat,” she says. “It’ll help you regain your strength.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, madam,” he murmurs, taking greedy gulps from the cup, and then, as steadily as he can, the warm, heavenly soup; too tired and hungry and in pain to feel embarrassment at how horrible his manners probably are. Finally, he sets the bowl down. “Er,” he says, “I’m so sorry—I never did ask your name...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flicker of a smile crosses her lips. “Sarah,” she replies. “And you are...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben—Brewster.” It slips out without thought; and his ears heat. He’s glad Caleb’s not there, or he’d be teasing him to hell and back. “I was...ambushed by two men as I was travelling the neutral territory—tried to get away, but they shot me, and my horse scared and bucked me off. Not sure how long I was out there, but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips thin into a line. “Damn Continentals,” she mutters. “They don’t even respect the neutral zone anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gamble’s a Royal Officer, actually,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben barely bites back; hackles raising at the tone of her voice. It’ll do him no good to have her learn that he’s a Continental himself as he’s dependant on her hospitality at the moment. “It’s a shame,” he says, instead, stirring the spoon around in what remains of the soup; trying hard to keep his tone even. “Madam—Sarah—thank you kindly for your hospitality, but I really should get going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah raises a brow. “With a wound like that? I think not. You’ll stay at least the night—then you can get back to whoever is waiting for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But surely your husband will protest,” Ben points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression flickers. “My husband won’t be protesting anything, I think,” she says, finally; softly; “for he’s no longer with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh—Sarah, I’m so very sorry, I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waves him off with a half-broken laugh. “It’s fine. It’s been a year, I shouldn’t be so—it’s fine,” she repeats, again. “Truly. Now, Ben, please say you’ll stay the night and let me stitch that wound up—I’d hate for the woman waiting for you to never see her lover again.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unlike myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes unspoken, and Ben swallows thickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he says, “I’ll...stay. And—thank you, again, truly, madam. I cannot express how much I appreciate your kindness.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Even if you’re a Tory,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t add; because that would only be creating an unnecessary problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah bustles off; and Ben finishes up the soup, adjusting his pillows with a wince so he’s more comfortable. When she gets back, there’s a spool of thread and a needle in her hand. “This might hurt,” she warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Ben assures, “I’ve had worse.” Too late, he realises that doesn’t fit too well with the image of a civilian Sarah probably thinks he is; but thankfully she doesn’t comment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does hurt. Horribly, especially since the needle isn’t a suture needle but rather a straight needle. He digs his fingers into the mattress, teeth grit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah notices; and in an attempt to distract him, says, “Tell me about her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben blints. “Who?” he croaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woman waiting for you back home,” she replies. “A handsome man like you must have one. Tell me about her.” She gives the needle a tug, and Ben bites back a cry of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s...funny,” he says, instead; half-panting from the pain. “We’ve...known...we’ve known each other since we were...children. Family friends,” he explains; because that’s the first thing that springs to mind. “Spitfire—give her a gun and she’ll give you hell.” He finds himself smiling at the mental image of the woman he’s created; she’d be short, probably; a warm, mischievous smile, dark, curly hair; the scent of sea-salt—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ben says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Sarah’s just tugged on the needle again, and so she assumes that that’s what he’s complaining about. Ben’s too caught up in his thoughts to care much, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could this have</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened? he wonders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, though, a thousand things make sense—the heat in his chest when Caleb hugs him or laughs along to a joke of his; the way the thought of Caleb coming to harm is something that makes him willing to lay down his life; and he wishes he could burry his head under a pillow and stay there for a year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Sarah’s done. “There,” she says, snipping the thread. “Now you get some rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ben mutters, and lays down, head buzzing with thoughts.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It is, Ben thinks to himself, a strange thing to have the knowledge that one has had amorous views of another without knowing it. For a woman, perhaps, the shock would not be so strong, but Ben—his luck, terrible as it is, has had him fall for his closest friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bracken seems to claw at his stockings as he trudges along slowly, mindful of the recently sutured wound in his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How is it that it escaped his notice for so long?—for in hindsight it seems obvious to him; that the warmth he has felt towards his friend for so many years is more than brotherly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden chill wracks him—has anyone else noticed? Surely not, or he’d have been reprimanded at least, but—someone is bound to notice on day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought sends terror jolting through his veins—he would lose his post, but Caleb, only a lieutenant—well. They hang men for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, Caleb. Caleb can’t know. In that moment, Ben decides it. He can’t risk losing his closest friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A branch hits his forehead; and Ben scowls. “Damn forest,” he grumbles, and bats it away; fingers coming away wet with the morning dew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wipes his hand on the leg of his breeches; grateful when it doesn’t leave much of a dark spot behind. The clotting he’s wearing may not be the most comfortable, but he still feels guilty about the mud-splatters it’s already collected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders, suddenly, what Caleb is thinking—Ben was supposed to have been back by now. Hopefully he’s not worrying himself sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Part of Ben hopes he is; a tiny part of him that wants to matter to Caleb that much.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben makes his way along the trail, caught in his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he makes it to the treeline of camp, it’s dark, and he has to strain to see. Of course, as his luck will have it, he bumps right into one of the perimeter guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” the man exclaims, “who’re you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Major Benjamin Tallmadge, Second Continental Light Dragoons,” he rattles off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear the frown in the man’s voice. “Major? You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> like one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spark of irritation lights in his blood. “Civilian clothing—it’s a long story. Please just let me get back to my tent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to take you in to be verified, sir,” the man says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben sighs. “Yes, fine, alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, the officer begins to march him into camp, a hand on his shoulder and the tip of his pistol resting on the small of Ben’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does his best not to feel too irritated about the situation; but, side twinging, it’s hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben?” It’s Caleb’s voice. “Waker, whatcha doin’ holdin’ a gun to Major Tallmadge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man—Waker, apparently—says, “You know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know him—? I’m his goddamn lieutenant, man!” Caleb’s scowling now. “Put the fucking gun away, I’ll take him from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a beat, Ben thinks Waker is going to argue; but then he mutters, “Fine,” and shoves Ben forward, towards Caleb; gun no longer pressed to his back; and Ben breathes—relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he murmurs, and for an instant he wants to drag Caleb into an embrace; but then sense gets ahold of him—what will the men think, seeing them so close? No—too risky. Instead he just settles for patting his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb frowns, but doesn’t comment. “You’re late,” he says, “did something go off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben grimaces. “Let’s go to my tent and we can talk,” he says; pressing a hand to his side and nearly hissing at the discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other notices. “You’re hurt,” he says, matter-of-factly; and stops; turning to tug at Ben’s coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not here—</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The last bit falls from his lips; a half-wounded plea. Caleb listens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But when we get to your tent, you’re telling me everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Ben repeats; and steps bank; putting distance between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does tell Caleb everything, once they get to his tent—nearly, anyway. He leaves out a bit, but given the nature of it, he can hardly be blamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb takes it all in, stony-faced; before he rises and begins to pace. “I’ll kill Gamble myself,” he growls, “that bastard—and you! Hiding a gunshot wound. You’ll catch your death, Tallboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been cleaned and tended to,” Ben argues, “there’s no need to waste supplies. You know we’re low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other lets out a frustrated sound; hands twitching. “Fine,” he says, “but if it starts to get inflamed I’m dragging you to the doctor myself.” He sighs. “You’re impossible, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s why you lo—like me.” He catches himself at the very last moment; tacking on a weak smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile he gets in return is nothing short of radiant; and Ben loses his breath for a moment; wants to stand up and stride over and kiss that beautiful, handsome man—kiss his best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead he just clenches his hands and stays silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Caleb says; offering a hand; “let’s go sit around the fire and drink like old times, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s more of a command than a request; so Ben complies; standing without taking the proffered hand; and after a beat, Caleb drops it; turns, and pushes his way out of the tent. Ben follows after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb pulls a flask from his coat as they sit; and offers it to Ben. He nearly refuses, but—but, but, but. He doesn’t. He takes a swig and imagines he can taste the echos of Caleb’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy there,” Caleb warns, “it’s not an endless supply.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Embarrassed at having been so caught out, Ben thrusts the flask away from himself; trying to not concentrate on the brush of Caleb’s fingers against his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb reaches into his coat; pulling forth two acorns; and Ben already knows what he’s going to say—they’ve been playing this game since they were children. “To friendship,” he says, offering one to Ben; and Ben’s heart aches as he takes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb sets his in the fire, gesturing for Ben to do the same; and when he hesitates, Caleb sighs; takes it himself and sets Ben’s acorn next to his own. “You’re all tense tonight,” he observes. “Did something happen you ain’t tellin’ me ‘bout?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Ben deflects; staring intensely at the acorns. To his relief, Caleb lets it go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re burning fine,” he says, grinning; and claps Ben’s shoulder. “We’ve got years to go yet, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully,” Ben says; and his own smile feels weak.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The next few days are spent pouring over the work he’s missed while he was away; letters to read and missives and requests to write; and he finds himself staying up later and later, until, finally, one night, he doesn’t sleep; finds himself sitting stiffly in his chair as the sun rises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretches his wrist experimentally; wincing at the cracks that sound; the twinge of pain that moving it causes. The sun is shining over the horizon and in through the crack between the flaps of the tent, and it causes him to squint, eyes still used to the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a rap on the post of his tent; and Ben starts. “Come in!” he calls; and a moment later, Caleb enters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you were going t’ see me off,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seeing you off...?” Ben frowns; scrambling through his memory to try and find what he’s talking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb blinks up at him. “I have to make a run to the Setauket dead-drop, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes. Right.” Ben yawns; scrubbing his eyes. “Right, yes. Er, well, let’s get you to your horse, then.” He stands, tugging on his coat, and brushes past Caleb, out into the cold, morning air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb follows behind him a moment later, falling into step by his side. “Something on your mind?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben shakes his head. “Nothing you need to be worried about,” he assures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite. Now, horse.” Ben strides over to the barn, opening the door, and makes for the horses; picks a sturdy, rich brown mare. “She should keep you safe,” he says, offering Caleb the reigns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb takes them with a smile. “Thanks,” he says, opening the gate, and leads the horse out of the stall, Ben following behind him. He grabs a saddle, securing it, and uses one of the crates to get a leg up over her back; leads her out of the barn at a brisk walk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stop for a moment at the edge of camp; Ben putting a hand on the mare’s flank. “Good luck,” he says; and then, without meaning to, says, “stay safe, please. I love you. Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb stares at him. “Sorry, what—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go,” Ben says, hastily, and flees back into camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day seems to pass in a blur; Ben doing his duties in automatic, unthinking fashion. That night, he lays awake; worry consuming his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What will Caleb say when he returns? Will he yell at Ben? Condemn him? Or will he slowly, silently, break off their friendship? Shy away from Ben’s touch, from his presence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben can’t bear to think of that; can’t bear to think of the loss that would come with it. If that’s what Caleb chooses, then he will respect it, but he fears—he fears that the pain might very well kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days later, Caleb returns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s in the middle of the day; Ben’s busy, and as such, doesn’t learn of it until evening, when a letter is delivered to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens it, expecting it to be something from Congress, perhaps Selah, but no; it’s a simple, one-line letter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Meet me in the woods behind the barn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>- CB</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Caleb.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben’s heart clenches. So, then; he wants to talk about it. In that case, Ben will talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rises from his seat; and makes his way through camp; the mud speckling his boots as he walks; the twigs cracking beneath his feet the further he gets from the centre of camp. The closer the barn grows, the greater the anxiety clenching beneath his ribs grows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he rounds the barn. There’s no one there; so he pokes his way into the forest a bit; the bracken tugging at his breeches and the leaves cold where they hit his hands. There’s no sign of Caleb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is it a jest? Ben’s heart clenches as he considers the possibility. Surely, surely not—Caleb wouldn’t do that. Would he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments pass; and just as Ben’s about to leave, there’s a rustle of leaves. “Ow!” complains a familiar voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s heart soars for a beat, before he remembers why he’s there; and then it sinks down to the bottoms of his boots. “Caleb,” he says, when he sees the other’s head. “You wanted to see me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tallboy?” The other squints; and comes through the bush between them to stand in front of him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wasn’t either,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t say. “I’m sorry about the other day,” is all that he can manage, “I didn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie,” Caleb says. “Please, Ben, don’t lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to spare you the shame,” he says. “I wanted—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, for someone who went to Yale, you’re a bit of an idiot,” Caleb interrupts. Ben gapes at him; stunned to silence; and he continues. “If you had a single ounce of sense in that fine head of yours, you’d see I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben stares at him. “...what?” he croaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Caleb repeats. “I’d like to kiss you, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...give me a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few moments, they stand there; surrounded by silence except for the occasional bird-call. Then Ben says, “I’d like that—if you still want to, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb grins. “Fantastic,” he says, and pulls Ben down by the front of his coat to kiss him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find me at <a href="https://major-721.tumblr.com/">major-721</a> on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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